BrownBlue
by Venerate
Summary: Sasuke sees, but Naruto is blind to true beauty. Naruto's eyes are blue, but they look brown and there is too much make-up for Sasuke to realise that his want is truly a need. : YAOI, SasuNaru. No cross-dressing. BDD!Naruto, mentions of prostitution. :
1. Sway

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Naruto, nor am I making any money out of writing this. This applies to all chapters.

**Warnings: **YAOI(SasuNaru), BDD!Naruto, foul language, sexual material (oral, anal), first POV (both Sasuke and Naruto), no cross-dressing. Not yet proof-read.

**Summary: **Sasuke sees, but Naruto is blind to true beauty. His eyes are blue, but they look brown and there is too much make-up for Sasuke to realise that his want is truly a need. NO CROSS-DRESSING. BDD!Naruto

**Inspiration:** Nils Bech and Dean Martin.

**A/N:**This is the prologue of a small three-shot. _Naruto isn't blind_, but it is a metaphor (things will get clearer after the prologue). For any questions, don't hesitate to ask! Please take notice that this is another of my experiments with writing style (as in: I've never written in first POV before).

* * *

**Brown/Blue**

**Written by Venerate**

**

* * *

**

**Prologue: Sway**

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

I watch him.

There is nothing more, nothing less.

I watch him.

He can't see me, but I can see him. His eyes are ice blue, crystal clear and steely with determination and strength. They are unseeing. He can't see me, but I watch him and I _see_ him. I want him. I want his blind eyes on me, seeing the arctic colour on me and no one else. I want him – to hold him, hit him, kiss him, fuck him. I want him to be mine, to belong to me fully.

* * *

I follow him.

There is nothing more, nothing less.

I follow him.

To his house, where I see him eat dinner with his parents. He doesn't see me, doesn't notice me. To school, where we have the same classes. His friends have noticed, but they have deemed me harmless. For I am, to him. Harmless, because I don't want to hurt him. Not now, not tomorrow, not later. I want him beside me, under me, above me – unseeing and warm. I follow him.

* * *

I hear him.

There is nothing more, nothing less.

I hear him.

His voice is loud. His tone is always brash and eager, wanting to be seen and heard. I believe that he has long ago forgotten that other people can see him. Forgotten what it is like to see, to be seen. I wonder, does he think that he still looks like before? Short, scrawny, childish. Not anymore, I want to say to him. I want to hear him whisper in my ear, quietly for only me, that he knows what he looks like.

(I don't think he knows how attractive he is.)

* * *

I want him.

There is something more, something more.

I want him.

There is so much more than want. There is a need, but _hush_! There is no such thing as needs within the Uchiha walls. Homeschooled, taught to fend for yourself and make your own path. Belief – believe in yourself, they say, and I listened. I still listen as my father speaks – 'you shall not need', 'you shall not depend on others' and God forbid 'you shall not expose yourself' – and I hear nothing but rules that we are all to follow.

I am not one for needs. I am in need for no one and nothing. I have everything; I am not taught how to need. I have money, I have a family, I have a home, I have love and education. I don't need anything or any one.

_I want him._

* * *

Naruto.

* * *

Blue eyes turn brown.

It is an early morning process, a routine and habit. I know nothing else but to get up five minutes to five in early morning, when the birds are still asleep and the sun has yet to show up. I wake then, ready to become–

(–someone.)

–beautiful.

* * *

My eyes are red after a day with contacts, but they are never removed within the presence of someone else. In my dorm room, alone, I take them out and swear loudly over the rumble coming from my stomach.

No dinner. It isn't paid by the school. The cost of it is visible on my ribcage, bones poking gently against the insides of bronze skin. It's not bronze enough, I need to buy more tanning lotion,_ oh_, but I'm really hungry.

There is no dinner for me tonight (tomorrow, the day after tomorrow), because I need tanning lotion and more foundation to hide my scars. More foundation with the shade called _sienna_, to create a perfect face.

I need it, there are too many…

…flaws.

* * *

I write letters to my parents_, oh dear father, oh sweetest mother! I need money for food. Please, please, I need food. _

There is always a thick envelope waiting for me the next week, green money within. Oh, but I needn't food. I am in such dire need for perfection.

Perfection isn't free.

* * *

Oh dear father and oh sweetest mother won't give me more food-money if I don't start working. Working, working – do they not know how stressful that would be? Stress, a word that shouldn't be present in a world of perfection. Stress makes wrinkles and I want to throw up.

Two hours. Shower, shaving, make-up, hair styling, choosing clothes. Two hours.

It takes two hours to become the acceptable, cheery person that I _need_ to be.

(Or they might see my flaws!)

* * *

"Ne, Naruto… I've heard rumours."

I freeze – do they know? Do they know how I make money for my make-up, my designer clothes? Do they know that I'm _dirty_?

"Sasuke-kun _likes_ you!"

Sputtering (liars, those lying rumours). I sputter. Haruno Sakura giggles and smiles, saying "yes, it's true; I've seen him staring myself!"

Her pink hair moves with the wind and I wish. I wish for natural beauty and a body to die for. I wish for muscles and a face without scars. I wish for–

–brown eyes…

…but my eyes are blue.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	2. Hazelnut

**Playlist: **Green eyes, by Coldplay

* * *

**Brown/Blue**

**Written by Venerate**

* * *

**Chapter one: **Hazelnut

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

There is so much want when I see him in the cafeteria every morning. There is so much want when I see him there, running towards his friends with a big smile, apologising for being late. A big smile that I want, a genuine happiness upon seeing _them_. Them, the friends – so shallow, so affected by his beauty and charm – that are waiting for him.

There is so much want, so I want (to be one of them).

I would wait, and it is a common thought that race through my head. In the loud and bright cafeteria where breakfast is quickly consumed, I watch and I think with cold sarcasm that oh, _please_. I would wait for years, but I have seen their impatience. How the consideration of leaving the ever late Naruto to eat alone flashes before their eyes. They can't see him, they can't see the ice blue.

They see–

Brown eyes and platinum blond hair, bronze skin that is abnormally smooth and hairless for a man's. Naruto is a young man, not yet eighteen, but his eyes are blue, and he has a job that no one knows about. I have seen him, I follow him, I want him.

I want to be his client–(boyfriend)–customer.

Tonight. It is Friday and he is working late during the weekends. ("Where," Sakura asks frequently on behalf of their friendly circle. "Nowhere special," Naruto answers and he smiles beautifully enough for them to forget and to marvel over his unseen and seen beauty.)

I want to forget. I want to forget what I saw, what I _heard_.

_Yeah, more, please_: a strike, and Naruto gasps into the hushed night while the bed creaks.

* * *

Six o'clock, and I'm walking closely. Closely, wanting to be seen. Closely, see me, here I am!

There is frustration, but I'm acting on a whim. The sky is orange and the weather is warm. Naruto wears white mini-shorts, his lanky legs almost golden in the evening light. I want, but I don't need it. No, this is an impulse, on which I'm acting, because you see, I don't _need_.

Naruto doesn't know my face when I silently offer him money (here, take them, give yourself to me).

He takes the money under an orange sky, with a smile so inviting that I don't understand what I have done.

* * *

Naruto.

* * *

The money he gives me is irrelevant. It is his face and I'm jealous. Those eyes are dark, his hair is darker and his skin is so _fair_. Oh, I need him by my side. This man, whoever he is, can make me look perfect. Perfect by his side, bathing in his beauty and finally seeming acceptable.

Jesus Christ, I think, but I'm not religious by any means. I think that I would love to pay the other for a night. The thickness of the money he gave me is going to give me those new skinny jeans I need. These money are enough to pay for dinner a whole week. I'm so cheap, so cheap, but he offers too much. I don't need food. I need concealer for the purple bags under my brown (blue, blue, blue) eyes.

I need him, over me, next to me, behind me.

* * *

"S-Sasuke!" is his name, and it is what I cry out when his mouth is between my legs. His tongue over my sensitive skin, wetness coating and soothing. "Sasuke, aahh…"

His hair is so, so soft (unlike mine, dry and bleach blond from all the dye). His skin is rough, rough, as his hands caress the insides of my thighs. I need to work-out _more_, I think, when he moves up from between my legs, his muscles flexing in arms, thighs, stomach. I touch pale abs, moving over a hard chest.

"Naruto," he whispers. He knows my name, and I feel the need to hit him once-twice-thrice over the head. He is _mocking_ me, so I slap him across the jaw. The open hand sounds more than it hurts, but Sasuke glares so darkly that I almost regret it. "You _cunt_."

I'm a whore, one of those ugly whores, but I'm no pussy or cunt. I hit him again, this time a little harder. There will be a bruise on unmarred, white skin by tomorrow and it satisfies me so. Tell me, tell me, tell me that I'm _your_ cunt.

Sasuke doesn't tolerate – oh no, he doesn't, I smile – and he flips me around with dangerous force. His movements are angry, mad, furious (because he wants to show me who's the boss). His dick is hard, leaking, hard, and it is soon driving into me from behind without consideration for tomorrow.

"Sasuke!" is his name.

* * *

Two days later and I see him everywhere.

Dark eyes, narrowed, staring, glaring. There is a bruise on his strong jaw, a reminder of what was and what has been. He knows, but he doesn't tell. Questions, "Poor Sasuke-kun, your jaw!", but he never mentions our night. Our, because he owned me, bought me, paid for me. Our, because I needed it.

The tanning lotion is scented with coconut and vanilla when I pour it over every single inch of my body, but it is his scent that I remember and need. Musk, heavy sweat and _sex_. Twice, and I recall how he moved behind me, and how I moved above him. Twice, doggy style and then I _rode_ him with enthusiasm never witnessed before.

"Sasuke," I say, but he is the only one that doesn't notice.

He stares, but he doesn't hear me over the silence that now rings around the table. Lunch, but I have yet to eat. Sasuke, I need to say again, but my friends are looking at me. Puzzled, they are puzzled. Confused, wondering, eating.

"What about Sasuke-kun?" Yamanaka Ino asks, and her hair is even fairer than mine. Her skin is pale, her eyebrows slender and high in her forehead when she asks me.

"Nothing, just– nothing," but there is more and we all know it. Sasuke, but I fight the urge and stay silent. He wears clothes from abroad, the same designers that I crave and need. He wears no facial expression, but he is so handsome. So beautiful, so attractive. He doesn't even try.

I need.

* * *

"_Aw, c'mon, honey. You haven't come home in a month. What are you doing on the weekends that are so important anyway?"_

(Whoring.) "Working, mom. I got a job, like you said."

"_You're not drinking or taking drugs, Naruto, are you?"_

(I can't afford that.) "Of course not, mom. That's ridiculous!"

"_Sorry… We miss you here, so make sure to come visit soon! We can go to Ichiraku's and play paintball!"_

"Sure, mom! Sounds great. I gotta go now; I have some things to do before I get to bed." (Waxing, I need to wax, and bleach my hair.)

"_Call me as soon as you can, kiddo. Love you."_

"Love you."

* * *

I'm not poor. I need to say it, defend myself, but I don't. Sasuke stares at me, holding out a thick envelope with green money. I'm not poor, because I have thousands of dollars under my mattress. I'm not poor, but I am saving money. Saving, for my goal. Plastic surgery is expensive and–

–I need Sasuke.

The envelope is thick and I hope that he will respond well to my deal.

A deal. I need him.

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

"Yes," is the answer. The deal is on and I know that I am coming out as the winner in this. How could I not, I wonder, but I shouldn't question his motives. Becoming a _regular_ will mean steady income for Naruto. Naruto, Naruto, Naruto, who gasps and tries to scream, Naruto.

There is a kiss, wet and long, and I love it. I want more. I want Naruto's hands in my hair, I want Naruto's mouth on my dick, I want Naruto (everywhere, close). With eyes closed – brown, fake brown – Naruto kisses me with lanky arms around my neck. Sweet Christ, I want to say, but there is a soft tongue in my salivating mouth. He grips at my shirt, but it is deeper than that, and he grips from something real and solid.

My hands are on his naked back and I'm grateful that we are seated. My legs feel wobbly even as I sit with the hooker in my lap. Gorgeous, blond, brown-eyed hooker. Who would have imagined cheery Naruto to carry such a dark secret, I wonder, and I press closer. His lips slide against mine, damp and warm. (Naruto, with the stylish hair, with the expensive clothes, Naruto.)

My cock is hard and by the night is over; I'll get what I want.

* * *

Naruto sees me.

He sees me and I feel giddy-happy-ecstatic. I want even more, but I settle upon seeing brown eyes meet mine once in awhile. Oh my, I lick my lips when I feel his attention. He is curious, curious and interested. He needs to know what my intentions are. I won't, ever-ever-ever-ever, tell him that–

–love is in the air.

Naruto sees me.

* * *

I am no longer the creep that follows their friend. I am no longer Uchiha Sasuke, heir to the successful multi-billionaire company that my great-great-great uncle started. I am no longer Sasuke-kun, the young fellow that has any and all females smitten by the end of the day. I am no longer a creep.

I am Sasuke, the bastard, that smirks and puts a hand on the small of their friend's back. I am Sasuke, the bastard, that they see hand over a thick envelope to their friend when we think we're alone. I am Sasuke, the lucky bastard, that feels brown eyes follow me whenever he is nearby.

The friends of Uzumaki Naruto are smart, curious and somewhat pensive. Some of them are loud, cursing and voicing their displeasure when I am too close. Some of them are quiet, sending dirty looks my way when I sneak an envelope in Naruto's back pocket.

They ask, "What is it in those envelopes, Naruto?"

It is the wrong question, and I chuckle lowly when Naruto doesn't answer.

* * *

There are no words. No words are needed, but I want them. I want to hear my name – whispered, screamed, cried – I want to hear it. There are no words, because Naruto is awfully silent when he is getting fucked. There is no "harder, uh, yes, harder–", because this isn't fake. It's so hauntingly real, and we're both panting when I'm sliding in and out of him.

I inhale his scent, coconut and excitement. His hair is dry, but there are telltale signs of persistent use of conditioner. There is something, something, behind brown eyes. Half-lidded eyes, hazelnut, stares in wonder. Wonder; at the pleasure I (feel) give him. Half-broken sounds and moans, but they never quite reach my ears.

His chest is hard and warm against mine; moving and I feel his erection between our stomachs. His nails are blunt, short, well-kept, but they leave dangerously red marks on my back. It feels good. I want more (so I give more).

He throws his head back: clawing, gasping, needing, feeling, breathing.

I want to give him more, I want to take more.

I'm so close, close, ah, yeah, he's so _hot_. Not tight, not loose, not burning, but hot. He is sexy, beautiful, attractive but so–

–unaware.

* * *

Naruto.

* * *

Sasuke is beautiful. I hate that. He's a bastard, lying there with a nonchalant post-bliss smirk. Fucker. Fucker, fucker, fucker, I urge to say. I curse under my breath, knowing that he will hear every word I say. He hears me, sees me.

He follows me.

"Are you and Sasuke-kun friends?" Inuzuka Kiba asks sometimes, as if my reply will change over night.

Perhaps it will.

* * *

"You're…"

I'm ugly, poor, scarred. Scars, six of them, on my _face_. I'm all of those, that and more, but it is not what he is trying to say.

"…beautiful."

I have seen how the roots of my hair are turning yellow – oh God, I need hair dye, I need to bleach it, now, now, now – so when his big hand runs through my ugly hair, I slap it away. He scowls, but he is still gorgeous.

He grabs my wrists, almost shaking me, his dark eyes showing fury. There will be bruises, so I try to pull away. Bruises are ugly, disgusting marks that show nothing but imperfection and anger. I'm not angry. I don't need anger – I need new clothes.

He doesn't hit me, but it is too close. I don't hit him either (but I should, I should, he's _mocking_ me).

* * *

"Hey, babe."

–and that is all it takes to create chaos and confusion. Curiosity reeks from my lunch table, the hungry eyes of my friends staring between the rich, handsome Sasuke and me. Sasuke smirks, knowing what he has created. He enjoys it, fucking with their brains. Fucking with me.

I shouldn't be Uchiha Sasuke's babe. I shouldn't be the victim of heavy gossip. I shouldn't, but I love it. I love it, and I need it more than ever now that I've _tasted_ it. Attention, knowing that they are curious. Attention, something else for them to think of rather than my hideous face. My hidden scars.

"C'mon, I don't have all day."

I follow him, leaving the table while trying not to meet their greedy looks. Sasuke's arm is strong, manly, around my shoulders, and I'm jealous.

I don't understand.

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

_It is about time_, people say. Words spreading over campus like wildfire. Gossip is nothing new ('Oh my God, I heard Sasuke-kun likes Naruto'; 'I swear I saw Sasuke with his brother this weekend, don't they hate each other?') It is about time–

(–that I get what I want.)

–that the two most popular boys get it together.

* * *

Naruto.

* * *

It feels strange.

Just sitting there. In my dorm room. His eyes aren't looking at me, he isn't looking at me. God, I wish that he would just _look_ at me. I'm comfortable sitting next to him on my bed, but it feels _weird_. Weird, because he is reading a book. Weird, because I have nothing to say (for once). Weird, because he still has one arm around my shoulder.

It is no act and it confuses me so. Perhaps he wants to make as much use as possible of the money he gives me. Perhaps it is a dare – or worse, a chore, something that he feels the need to do. A chore, I don't need to be a chore, _please_.

My eyes sting and it is turning late. I don't have a roommate, but it looks as if Sasuke isn't planning on leaving any time soon. My eyes sting and I curse quietly. Glancing, ever so slightly, just a little, at Sasuke, I wonder what he will do, what he will say. I _need_ him and his thick envelope.

"Your eyes are red. Maybe you should take the contacts out," and he knows, he knows.

"You… bastard!"

It is easy to get out of his half-embrace and walk into my bathroom. He knows, he knows, he has seen my eyes. Brown eyes, blond hair, it is unusual and gorgeous. 'Gorgeous', mom always says when we meet aunt Tsunade. 'Brown eyes and blonde hair', uncle Jiraiya says, 'that really something.'

I'm not really something…

…but I fall asleep next to the most admired boy in school.

* * *

**To Be Continued**

* * *

I'd love to hear what you thought :) I'm not demanding an essay or anything like that, just your honest opinion.


	3. Undisclosed Desires

**A/N: **are you allowed to say Eskimo or am I being horribly improper here? Is it okay to say Eskimo kiss? *confused* On a different note – hope you enjoy this last chapter. Might be an epilogue after this chapter, if I'm feeling nice. This isn't very popular, so I guess I'll have to set my priorities somewhere else.

Also, I tried to hurry for you, **Sqry** ;) Hope the chapter is to your taste.

* * *

**Brown/Blue**

**Written by Venerate**

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* * *

**

**Chapter two:** Undisclosed Desires

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

This is how he does it.

I sit down on his bed, pretending not to notice the holy mess of clothes. I've already noticed the lack of food in Naruto's mini-fridge. The plug isn't even in, and I find it amusing. Amusing, but not as funny as seeing my blond hooker by the desk. It doesn't look like a desk for studying or doing homework, no, it is so amusing because it is covered with–

–make-up!

Had I been anyone else, I would be laughing now. I am myself – no one else, but made in someone else's shadow – and I don't laugh. It is only amusing because it doesn't suit his persona. It doesn't suit him, not at all, it doesn't.

It doesn't suit me.

It doesn't suit me to be sleeping with someone as odd and cheap-cheap-cheap as _Uzumaki Naruto_. Not Uchiha Sasuke, no, not to my parents. Oh, if they knew. It almost brings a chuckle to my lips. Of course, no such sign of joy will ever be expressed in the presence of anyone else. Naruto looks busy, covering his cheeks with a cream of sorts. It hides the scars, the pretty little scars.

He works expertly, and I watch.

Step by step – cream, foundation, powder, changing clothes, hair spray, changing clothes – I follow him quietly by watching. After a third change of shirt, Naruto looks at me with a wide grin. Finally, he is satisfied (for now, for now, for now).

And we walk out of his dorm room without a word, the smell of expensive hairspray lingering.

* * *

It is only during sex I can honestly say that Naruto transforms from beautiful to, ah…

…yes, fucking, fucking gorgeous.

Rock hard, wild, wanting and feral. Blunt, precise fingernails in my shoulders. Rosy nose scrunches up and the foundation slowly coming off with the sweat. Scars showing, mental, mental, mental scars. Shuddering and sweating, _trying_ to breathe. Muscles flexing, spasms showing the need. Begging, no– demanding.

I'm no better, thrusting and thrusting. Hips moving rhythmically – slow, slow, slow, ah, long strokes, slow – and inhaling the smells of food and sex until I feel ready to burst. Faster, faster, faster, until we come too close: too close, slowing down, slowing down,_ make it last_.

It is not only sex, because we eat and we mutter insults and we kiss. Kisses, all sizes and kinds. Pecks on his cheeks, a lazy attempt from my side to remove the make-up. A French kiss with so much passion, so much emotion, that I want his tongue even deeper. The soft rubbing off noses, and there is an Eskimo kiss, a smudge of tan sticking on the tip of my nose. Breathing into his mouth, a soft pressure of dry lips, but nothing more, nothing less.

Nothing more, nothing less.

I want more.

I want him. More. I want more.

* * *

Naruto.

* * *

There is so much jealousy. I call him a bastard, an asshole, a jerk; oh, you're_ such_ a dickhead. His hair is so dark, and he doesn't say a word when he helps me bleach my hair. With plastic gloves on his hands, the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up, and biting on his pale lower lip… He is so handsome with broad shoulders and muscles on his arms.

He forces my head down, snorting, pushing down harshly, gripping in my hair and rubbing it into my roots so hard that I'm sure I'll be bruised by tomorrow. Fucking dimwit, I want to say, dumbass, but I don't because his grip is tightening as it is. No one dares to speak, because there is too much pride.

Pride: Sasuke doesn't want to do this.

Pride: I don't want his help, no, why did he _offer_?

* * *

He pays for my ticket and I wish that he didn't have to. I wish, but those shoes I saw downtown aren't going to pay for themselves. No, Sasuke is going to pay for them – indirectly, handing me an envelope, sneaking money into the pockets of my jackets and bags. He doesn't think I notice, but I do, and it hurts.

I feel guilty, but it doesn't stop him.

There is guilt (because both believe we are using the other).

I eat the food he brings. I follow him to the movies. I spread my legs. In addition, he hands me a thick envelope and discreetly sneaks money into every piece of clothing I own. Sometimes, there are notes – 'see you later', 'for lunch', 'good luck', 'tonight'.

'Love you.'

* * *

It is nothing unusual, finding Sasuke in my dorm room. He has no key, but anyone could pick these worthless locks. He just sits there on my bed, waiting for me, staring out through the window. What he sees, I don't know. The parking lot, the trees, another school-building, I don't need to know.

What I need to know is–

"Where the fuck is my shit?"

And I understand that it is–

"Gone."

My desk looks naked. My floor looks clean. A lemon scent is in the air, and I know that Sasuke has cleaned it. Or perhaps paid for someone to do it for him. "You fucker," I say. My throat burns, but Sasuke doesn't notice.

He doesn't smirk in that handsome way that has me on my knees within seconds; he doesn't scowl in that way that makes me want to punch his face. He doesn't make a move, and yet, he looks so perfect where he sits. Designer jeans, I can tell, newly bought. Had he been shopping? Without me? The nerve.

New things, I remind myself when I'm able to tear my eyes from his body. He has to buy me new things. Had I not stepped by Ichiraku's this afternoon, I would be hyperventilating. Swearing, loudly. Everything seems easier when you're not hungry.

"Give them back, Sasuke. Or I'll tell everyone that you_ paid_ _me_."

"Please, go ahead." _Sweetie._ It's almost there, a nickname that he wants to use. To degrade me. To insult me. To show his superiority – because _he_ paid _me_. Not the other way around: he holds the power. I need my power back. I need my _things_.

"Sasuke…" I can already hear what they'll say when they see me without make-up, my contacts, my expensive clothes, my hair-products. I can hear them.

'What happened to your face?'

'Holy shit, rough morning?'

'Naruto…your eyes. Are you using contacts?'

'Are you ill? Want me to take you to the infirmary?'

"No… Sasuke, you fucking scumbag! Give my _things_ back."

"Never." A smirk. He's so satisfied with himself. I need to kick his ass, I really do. "You're not going to be able to whore yourself out of this."

My brown eyes sting with unshed tears–

–and so starts the most memorable fight between Uchiha Sasuke and Uzumaki Naruto.

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

I don't know what is the most entertaining. The fact that Naruto is panicking and building up this fantastic rage or the fact that I'm the cause of this. I hold his panic and anger in one hand, his comfort and calm in the other. It's pleasurable, to know that our relationship (that my place in it) goes further than…

…sex.

…late dinner in his dorm.

…movies.

…_sex_.

There is something more and I'm sure that I'm breaking it right now. Breaking and hurting the small trust that floats between us. It feels good, it feels so_ fucking_ good. Wonderful, really, I've never experienced such power and satisfaction before, holding his life with cold roughness. It feels good.

We wrestle. It feels good. He hits me, I hit him. We hit each other and it kind of hurts. A lamp falls from the nightstand, his back hits the wall, but he smashes my head into the floor seconds later. Oh my, he is one feral being when cornered. It feels good. He hits me, I hit him, and it feels good.

Exhaustion reaches us, and we let go of each other simultaneously. It feels good. Bruises and cuts on my face, a tear in my shirt. It feels good. Looking at Naruto, he looks no better off with flushed cheeks and a bump on his head. Bruises, but it feels _good_.

Until a tear falls down Naruto's cheek.

* * *

Now it's just black.

Back to black, I guess. Without him – without platinum hair, without warm-brown-blue-brown eyes. I want him back. Now. I want him, more, now, without make-up and instant noodles. Perhaps this is fair, I think, when I recognise all the things I took from him.

He doesn't see me. He sees green – the colour of money, because I'm still sneaking money into his clothes. When he has P.E., a few green notes are in his locker. When he is out shopping, I'm hanging in his room – sneaking money into his clothes and sleeping on his bed. It is not the same amount as before, and it is noticeable on his clothes.

Two weeks has passed, and he doesn't see me anymore. Two weeks of nothing. (He hides in his room, hiding, because he thinks he's not good enough. Hiding, because he doesn't _want_ me near.) He needs me.

I'm sure that he hasn't eaten in quite awhile. Perhaps that is why he stares at me when I ask him if he wants to go out with me tonight. ("Naruto. Would you like to go out with me tonight?" Please, c'mon, honey.) I have money, food, but he is hurt. I hurt him, and I can tell that the contacts in his eyes have been used for too long.

He seems shocked, but that it is understandable – I never did make our status as friends-lovers-customer-whore truly official. Just, 'hurry up, babe, c'mon, we'll be late.' We were always alone in his room or hiding in the safe dark of the cinema. It is his strawberry friend, Haruno Sakura, that speaks before anyone else has adjusted to the _shock_.

"He'd love to!"

* * *

It is official (not just rumours: did you hear that they're finally, did you hear that they're dating, no I've never seen them, but I've heard) and Naruto still doesn't know what to make of it. It feels good, watching him eat in a restaurant which people from our school can walk into any minute. See us, watch us, accept _us_.

"You look great." It's the third time, but Naruto looks surprised anyway. I want to hit him over the face for looking surprised. I want him to sputter, murmur "you too" or "thank you", but it isn't his style. He merely glares. "You do."

There isn't much said: no questions, no whispers of I missed you, sweetie, oh, I did.

No whispers.

* * *

Naruto.

* * *

It's hard to stay angry with him.

I need to punch him in the face. I need to wipe that smug, satisfied look off of his face– but then he says "You look great" again, and I melt. There is no hate, but I need to, and it would feel good, I really need to hate him.

"You look great," with a voice so honest and so desperate. It isn't smug.

Dinner is lovely and it tastes good and I was _so_ hungry before we sat down. I'm not nervous about the fact that this is the restaurant closest to campus – anyone can walk in on us anyminuteanyminute now. I need them to see, to hear, to know, what I have. It's a privilege, Sakura said earlier today, it's a privilege to date _Uchiha Sasuke_.

I know. I know, I know, I know and I know. (I needed to say that, but I never did, there are a lot of things I need, but Sasuke took them, I need new contacts.)

* * *

It's so sweaty, hot, clammy and sticky. He's eager; I can feel it, enthusiasm hidden from his face slowly leaking from his fingertips. It makes it hard to breathe, but I need to, I do.

He needs this too, because he is fumbling with his belt and we're in his _home_. Stupid, stupid Sasuke, don't you understand what thoughts and believes might enter my head when you bring me home? Like an equal. Someone dear.

His room is dark and I've never really wondered where Sasuke disappears to when school is out. Here, here is his home, in this little compound of pure-blooded aristocrats. Traditional houses, and Sasuke lives on the top floor of the main building, I'm not drunk, I can tell that this is in the centre, the biggest manor. I can tell that there are other people (parents! Siblings!) in the house as well.

Sasuke is above me, and so, siblings and parents don't matter. It is all too easy to spread my legs when he goes down on me, his lips against my skin. It feels good, but I can't help the thoughts 'dear God, I should have saved more money for tanning lotion, no, wax, wait, hair dye!' I need it.

I need his mouth against the inside of my thigh, his big hands wandering over my heaving chest, and my hands are buried in his hair, clawing at his back, grabbing his arms to pull him up for a kiss. Kiss, kiss, kiss, I think, and he give me what I crave. Sweet, hurried, his parents are probably still awake, he grunts into my mouth and he's so-so-so _greedy_.

Sweet Jesus, it's good, and ah-ah-yes–

"–_fucking God_."

Sasuke is a verbal genius, and I nod eagerly when his fingers are gripping at my butt, parting my cheeks as he prepares to enter. It's hard to slow down, but his breath against my collarbones is soothing, and I turn into a poodle of goo in his embrace. A man of opportunities, Sasuke hurries to force himself inside of me, taking advantage of my relaxed state.

It feels nice, and I need this, because I'm above wanting, I only need. I need him, I do, p_lease, aahh, Sasuke_.

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

Morning at home is always the same. Shower, quick breakfast with my parents, my father reading the newspaper, getting dressed in proper clothing and styling hair. It is a Saturday morning and during these, the breakfast isn't rushed and my brother sometimes joins us. He isn't here today, but there are four plates on the table.

Mikoto is my mother's name and she smiles when she sees me entering the kitchen. Her eyes are knowing, but she merely walks past me to greet our guest. Naruto, who has taken a shower in my bathroom, who has slept next to me, who has put in his contacts and covered his scars.

"Good morning, dear. I'm Uchiha Mikoto, Sasuke's mother." It's natural, almost, and I feel proud to have such an elegant mother this very morning. I feel proud when Naruto smiles, pearly white teeth showing in a perfect row,

"Uzumaki Naruto. A pleasure to meet you!" Cheery, almost as if he isn't mad at me. Eager, as if he has been waiting to meet my parents. Cheery and eager and absolutely lovely (oh my God, not like me at all), as if he wasn't freaking out at the lack of fresh clothes this morning in my bedroom.

"Come sit," mother ushers us both, and motions towards the heavy oak chairs by the kitchen table. Fugaku looks up from the newspaper across from me. Dear God, I silently beg when my father's eyes rests on Naruto.

Silence for a little longer, until the blond moron by my side takes the initiative. "I'm Uzumaki Naruto. Please forgive my intrusion."

My father isn't a forgiving man, oh no, he likes punishments and discipline, so he narrows his eyes. I can't relax, not one bit, but Naruto merely smiles and acts so _normal_ when Mikoto offers him coffee with a soundless gesture. It takes almost two minutes before thin, pale lips parts and my beloved father decides to acknowledge the young man I've shared many nights with.

"You don't use your father's name anymore, boy?"

"No, sir." Naruto is quick to answer, and it pleases my father. Fugaku hates anything slow, he wants things done fast-quickly-now.

"Your eyes…"

"So, Naruto, what are you planning to do after school?" Mother smiles and her voice is strong but kind. Naruto looks relieved, and he graces her with the customary answer, _oh, I'm not sure, perhaps I'll travel, perhaps I'll work,_ but I know. I know.

He is saving for it. I've seen the money he hides.

He knows what is happening after school. No break for work, no break for travelling, no break for anything. No break, because he is saving for it. I've seen the amount. He is too close to his goal, and I can't let him, no. I won't lose him to a surgery. Vain, stupid, dangerous, removal of scars. So mental, so _mental_.

He is too close.

I want him.

* * *

**The End**

**

* * *

**

**A/N:** please leave a review if you'd like to see an epilogue (posted as a fourth chapter). Do leave a comment with anything that you liked/disliked or had any questions about. I appreciate any and all words :)


	4. Mirrors

**Playlist:** _Ill lit Ships_, by Blaqk Audio. _Only Girl_, as a cover by Ellie Goulding.

You might have to go back and re-read some parts to remember, and I apologise for the wait. And I know I said that this would be the epilogue, but I couldn't finish it without making it seem to abrupt, so there will be at least one more chapter._ I hope that's okay with you guys?_

Please do leave a review to encourage a busy writer!

* * *

**Brown/Blue**

**Written by Venerate**

* * *

**Chapter three****:** Mirrors

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

"When are you letting me meet _your_ parents?"

A simple question, but he only glares. Blue eyes, they are blue, and he hasn't left this room for two whole days now. He isn't hungry, he doesn't seem to suffer, but I know he does. Standing by his drawer, he is looking for any spare change, any little nickel he can find. He is desperate, but I won't pay for his make-up.

"Unfair, don't you think?" I smirk, oh, how I love to rile him up.

"You have _no_ right to speak about what is fair or not, you twat. So shut the fuck up or get out." He is so _touchy_. I snort, silly Naruto, thinking that this is for the best. "And you're never going to meet my parents. They wouldn't like you."

It hits me in the face, hard, and I force myself not to look as shocked as I feel. Little motherfucker, I want to say, because _everyone_ loves me. Everyone, I'm likeable and handsome. I'm the son of Uchiha Fugaku and I'm good at everything I do. They would love me, I'm sure, I'm sure. Perhaps they just don't approve of homosexuality. I hope so, I hope so, because otherwise I must be losing my touch.

"What's it not to like?" I mutter, more to myself in a rhetorical sense, and lie down on the bed. It's messy and I guess that I'm lying on Naruto's cellphone because of the hardness poking the small of my back.

"You're an arrogant, bitchy know-it-all. There's nothing to like, bastard. I don't like you."

"You better not mean that," I threaten, and he keeps quiet. He stays with his back towards me, so I can't tell what his eyes says. Blue, blue, arctic blue, so beautiful and he doesn't even dare to look at me. His contact lenses are since a few days back unusable.

"It's late," he mumbles. He pretends to give up his search, starting to close the drawer. "You should leave. Like, now."

I don't want to leave. I don't know what brought the sudden search for money on, and I won't leave until I understand why he shows such abrupt desperation. It isn't in his nature, no, he wants to pretend that everything is fine. How can it be fine, I wonder, when he doesn't even dare to leave his dorm room without eye contacts. It doesn't make sense, and he stares at my feet until I sit up.

"I'll sleep over," I announce.

"No, you leave," he counters. Almost convincing. He needs me, he really does, and I want him to. He needs me to see past his flaws, but he doesn't know it. He doesn't know why he needs me, but I do, and I want him so bad.

"I'm fucking staying."

Absolute; and I disappear into his bathroom in order to brush my teeth. He is right, it is late, and I need to get up early for class. I know that he won't, he won't go to class, and his friends are asking for him. They ask me, _me_, but why should I tell _them_? They don't deserve his love or respect, not when they clearly can't see his troubles. How everything from going to class, eating dinner and taking a shower is a hassle because of his _disorder_.

Naruto doesn't join me in the bathroom, but I know that he has already prepared for bed. He is tired, and I know that he sleeps on and off during the days. It must be exhausting, thinking of something that he can't change without money or leaving his room. He is stuck here, stuck without a lifeline.

When I exit the bathroom, he is already in the bed. I can see that he is awake, blue eyes staring at the ceiling sadly. He is so gorgeous, those cold eyes enchanting me more than those hazelnuts ever could.

"Love," I say, and it is honest. If it is a nickname or a statement, I don't know. Just, "love."

I entwine our fingers. His right hand in mine; his left hand in mine, and I'm above him. Slowly, slowly, lowering myself, and his eyes are fluttering closed when I press our lips together. He isn't as eager as he usually is, but he doesn't shove me away. I don't want to push it, so I lean back and let go of his hands. I lie next to him, on my back, and wonder if I look as sad as he does when we stare at the ceiling.

* * *

Naruto.

* * *

I'm ready when the alarm goes off. He reaches out and shuts it off immediately, afraid that I will awake and curse him out for it. One of his arms stay around my waist, and it feels good. Terrifying, but what I will do later is even more so. He caresses my side, the tip of his index finger running over my ribcage as if to count bones. A soft, slow kiss to my neck before he gets out. He can't tell that I'm awake; I have long since perfected the act of pretending to be asleep.

He heads to the shower, and I wait until I hear water running. The shower is loud, and I know that he won't hear if I get up. So I do. I sneak up, grab one of my designer bags and lift the mattress. The green I see is life-changing, and I put the folded notes in the bag. Hurry, hurry, hurry, because Sasuke never showers longer than ten minutes tops. Hurry, and I shove the many notes that has escaped their bunch. Everything goes down, and when I'm finished, I put the bag under my bed.

I get back in bed, grabbing the covers and forcing my breath to return to normal. Slower, slower, I tell myself, and it works as it evens out in a slow pace. Closing my eyes and listening, hearing water, water, water and then no water. The shower is over, and Sasuke will now be done in a matter of minutes. His morning routine is quick, natural, because he doesn't even have to style his perfect hair. Silky, black hair that always obeys.

When he opens the bathroom door, hot steam enter with him and make my stay under the covers too warm. It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, and I force myself to keep pretending. I hear him getting dressed, smoothly, and no one will even think about that he is wearing the same jeans and shoes the day before. No one will, because Sasuke is gorgeous and I wish that I too could walk outside my door without having to wear new shoes every day of the week.

He has his own supply of shirts in my wardrobe, and he opens it to get one. I hear him close it, and there is a second – two seconds – of silence as he puts it on. Then, he leaves the room with his bag and jacket. The same jacket that he has worn all spring.

As soon as he is out, I get up. Hurry, hurry, the bus to Otogakure leaves in an hour. Hurry, hurry.

In the bathroom, quick shower, quick shower on fifteen minutes. Body lotion, a mild scent of coconuts. Then blow drying, and my hair is frizzier than ever. My hand is shaking from stress, God I'm bad at hurrying, and I use the concealer as thoroughly as I can. Powder, covering redness and pale complexion. There, done, then hairspray and filling my eyebrows with light brown. Hurry, hurry, sweet Jesus I'm bad at this.

Clothes, I practically shove them down the bag on top of the money. Boxers, jeans, a stray sock and shirts. Then, what to wear, what to wear, and it's a struggle to decide. I wore the yellow one last week, the blue one two days ago and there are so little choices but so many clothes.

I check the wardrobe again, there, a black one. Putting it one, it's too big, but that doesn't matter. I'm in a hurry, and I can't remember last time I had to speed up my daily routine. Skinny jeans, the white ones, because it's hot out. It has been raining, but today there will be sun and the white ones have been left unused for too long.

They are a big too loose, riding low on my hips, but it is covered by the black t-shirt that doesn't belong to me. I don't normally do v-neck and this smell like Sasuke, so good, so good.

Then, grab the bag, hurry, hurry. Breakfast is unnecessary, I need the money. Just the bag: clothes, money, make-up. Sunglasses on my nose and then I run.

* * *

The bus ride is getting on my nerves. Edgy, edgy, as if I'm nervous. I am, but I won't admit it. I want this, I _need_ this. I do, and a ride in a foul-smelling bus is a small price to pay. Of course, there is a higher price than that, but I won't admit that either.

Two more hours, two more hours, then I'll be in Otogakure.

Three more hours, three more hours, then I'll be in the clinic.

Just a few more hours, please, and they'll make me perfect.

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

Class is boring, oh so boring, when all I want is only a few buildings away. Disturbing, how he can take all my patience-concentration-discipline and turn it into a mess of horny thoughts and annoying questions. What is he doing, what would we be doing if I was there, is he thinking of me, oh my God I'm such a girl.

Worried, but I will never tell anyone. No one notices, no one cares. It is all, 'Oh, Sasuke-kun, you look handsome today!' but no 'How is your boyfriend doing, I haven't seen him in a while!' I don't know what to do, not even when there is an abrupt end of my thoughts and questions, the shrill ringing of the bell telling that my suffering is over.

One more lecture, then Naruto.

No, wait… Should I…?

Yes, I should. I will. He _needs_ me. I was raised properly after all, I know what to do. Show him; show him that I care, because I have been told I don't do that often. I can be his; I can show him that he needs me. Uchiha Sasuke can do _anything_.

I speed up, the cafeteria is still open. My bag is heavy, but I don't have time to stop by my locker. He hasn't eaten properly for two days – a normal person, even those he call friends, would stay with him; get him food. Something to eat, something to eat. It seems that my manners have been suffering because of Naruto's pretence of independency.

I hand the lunch-lady enough money for one of the neatly packaged burgers with a soda and an apple. It smells of junk food, but Naruto likes this. He does, and I have been a jerk. It is hard to admit, but I should apologise. With this burger, he'll come around and understand. He needs to understand, the little fucker.

My other class, the last one, has already begun when I reach the dorm rooms. I don't care. It doesn't matter, he _needs_ me. I want him to stay. I don't bother knocking, it's no use because then he'll run. Run, run, run like a scared animal.

The room is empty, and I listen for sounds. The bathroom door is open and I peak inside. No one. No one, what, how–

Oh.

There are clothes on the floor. Everywhere. He's been in a hurry, I hope that the money… Lifting the mattress, my fear is confirmed. Everything is gone. I have seen the pile of money grow, I have contributed and I have known of its existence.

But where the fuck would he go?

* * *

"Have you seen him?" Out of breath, and they all look shocked upon my presence. That may be because of my avoidance of anyone not Naruto. They are stuffing their faces, even Sakura looking unusually hungry this afternoon. Her pink hair looks tousled, and she looks a bit stressed, perhaps because of the big French test tomorrow. "Have you?"

"Who?" They look confused for a second, before Sakura hits Kiba over the back of his head. Stupid, stupid I want to yell at them, but it doesn't make a difference. Growling,

"Who the fuck do you think? _Naruto_."

Sakura wipes her mouth with a napkin, suddenly deciding to be a lady. I don't have time for that, fuckers, don't you know that your best friend disappeared in quest for the perfect face? A face that he already has, a face that I want to see.

"Uh, no, not in a few days. He texted me, said he got this awful cold–"

"You _imbeciles_. Call me if you find him." I turn, wondering who else might know. I don't know about clinics or hospitals offering surgeries. I can't imagine where he has gone, and it disturbs me on a level that I've never even _been_ on.

Someone runs up to me, and I turn around quickly in hopes of good news or arctic blues. I am met by emerald jewels, staring at me with worry and annoyance. There is a speck of ketchup on her upper lip, but I say nothing.

"What are you talking about, Sasuke-kun? What's with Naruto?"

"My guess is that he is attempting to remove his facial scars, but what do I know. Maybe he just whored himself last semester so that he could go for a mini-weekend to Paris."

How can she be so stupid and still get straight A's, I don't understand.

* * *

Naruto.

* * *

"After that, it's just a week or so before we can remove the bandages. It's important to avoid direct sunlight and chemicals for a few months. So, no regular soap or perfumed moisturisers in the face, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, of course."

"This procedure is rather simple and common, so you have nothing to worry about. How about we schedule a time for tomorrow?"

"That'd be great! I can't _wait_."

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	5. Is It Me

**Playlist:**_Touched_ and _Is it me_, by Vast. _Tell Me Goodbye_, by Big Bang.

**A/N:** Next chapter will be the last, and it will be the epilogue. (Not proof-read.) Do leave a review before leaving the page!

* * *

**Brown/Blue**

**Written by Venerate**

* * *

**Chapter four:** Is it me

* * *

Naruto.

* * *

It is burning, stinging, hurting. My cheeks are on fire under a fine layer of binding. It feels strange; I can't understand that there is something changed with my scars. I don't know how, I don't really know if there was laser and big knives, I never listened to the doctor.

I have no money left. A few dollars for the trip home, back to school. I need a few more days here, resting, recovering. There is a lot of stress on my body, the nurse says each time she comes to check my band-aid. I want nothing more but to rip them off and see for myself. Is it good, is it gone, am I perfect now? After this, I can finally focus more on my body. Scrawny, it is ugly and I want to be as strong as Sasuke.

Strong, beautiful and absolutely handsome Sasuke. Strikingly gorgeous, I want them to describe me. I don't want to be 'the one with the good-looking, pale man'. I wonder, and think, what will Sasuke say? I think he will be happy for me. I think he will understand. He can't really mean that I am beautiful. He is just mocking me with his lies. Bastard.

Now he will finally be able to look at my face without nausea. Perhaps, when I buy new hazel contacts, he will even be able to look me in the eyes.

* * *

Returning, returning, returning. There are faint lines where my scars used to be. They will be gone after summer, when the sun has done its job to even out my skin.

I am at my regular corner. Mini shorts and a small shirt, revealing too much tan skin for my personal taste. Heavy make-up, foundation and powder to hide the faint lines that soon will be gone forever. Brown pencil has been used to enhance my eyebrows, and after tonight, my eyes will return to hazelnut.

The one who stops first is a handsome man. He doesn't look the type to cruise through these neighbourhoods, but I am not here to judge. It is not in my place, I know, and I grin widely when he motions for me to climb into his sports car. It smells new, lovely, but the man reeks of cigar smoke.

"Hey there," he says with a nod of his head, one of his thick eyebrows rising flirtatiously. "Aren't you a pretty boy?"

Not for long, I want to say. I will be handsome. I will be more than long limbs and lanky arms, I will. I will show them all, I won't be clumsy no more.

"How much?"

"A hundred bucks an hour."

"Hm. I guess you could be worth it."

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

I am going to get sent to jail for killing an innocent girl, but it will be worth it. I can't help but stare at her as she cries and cries, snot and tears covering her flushed face. Bangs of rosy hair stick to her forehead and cheeks. I must admit that Sakura is usually rather pretty, but in this state, I wouldn't touch her with a stick.

She whines out words that I can't understand, but I guess that they are all guilt-ridden and sad. It's just us, for now.

Her car is uncomfortable, and I have tried to find a comfortable position behind the steering wheel since we started driving, five minutes ago. Five minutes of me shifting, five minutes of her crying. Sobbing, drooling, clawing at her face as if trying to remove it with her long, painted fingernails.

"Shut up," I whisper. She can't hear me, and I take a new grip on the wheel to avoid harming her.

"H-how could I not–" She takes a deep breath, hitching dryly in her throat. "His parents will– will kill–"

I roll my eyes, pushing the old vehicle over its limits to get to our destination faster. She acts like a poor guide, when it is the only reason I brought her along. Hopeless, completely worthless, but at least she knows that her job on helping him is pitiable. More tears, causing the front of her blouse to turn a darker shade of cerise.

I recognise the neighbourhood we are in as rather high class; the gardens green and the houses big, not what I would have expected Naruto to origin from with his nasty habit of prostitution. "Which house?" I ask, not bothering with caring tones or gentle words. It doesn't matter if she's upset or sad – not to me – because it isn't about her. Not at all.

It is about Naruto.

I want him. Now, by my side in the passenger seat as we drive to meet his parents. These are not in the circumstances I wish to meet his father. It is wrong, and I blame everyone and everything.

Sakura points at a house, her hand shaking and her chest heaving as she tries to calm down. It is not until I have parked the car by the two-story Victorian house that I realise that I am tense. Sakura gets out of the car, practically running over the grass and heading to the French blue doors. I follow; my steps slower than I intend them to be.

"Sakura?"

The voice is unfamiliar, belonging to a female with red hair reaching her waist. She doesn't look like the mother of a whore, her eyes kind and her face filled with worry as she pulls Sakura into an embrace. Those green eyes, so unlike Naruto's, stare at me with caution and it makes me annoyed.

I want her to know. I want her to push away Sakura and take my hands in hers, saying 'thank you'. Thank you for taking care of my son, thank you for giving him food, thank you for _loving_ him.

However, she doesn't know squat and her prejudices are aimed towards me. What have I done? Nothing, nothing.

She hushes Sakura, hugging her closer, saying, "darling, come inside. Tell me what's wrong."

* * *

Uzumaki Kushina is not married to Naruto's father. In fact, Minato isn't even at home. The closest I get to first impressions with the man is the picture on the refrigerator. There, blue eyes and hay-blond hair, he is smiling warmly and holding his wife in his arms, from behind.

Sakura has spilled the beans, her explanation to our presence jumbled and rushed. I butt in then and there, correcting wrongly made assumptions and adding trivial fact. It does not make Kushina feel better, and perhaps it would have been better if I kept my mouth shut.

She is greedy for more truth, demanding details upon details from the girl that really doesn't know anything. At first, she yells, then she cries and Sakura cries with her. Then it is an act of compose – 'I need to find my son' – it is primal, survival and she gets herself together for her son.

I stand there, by the fridge, staring at the man that Naruto is so alike yet so horribly different from. Blue eyes, blond hair that Naruto got from heritance, now fake hazel and platinum. Minato doesn't have any scars. He is of strong build and he is tall; proud, happy. Not a man that would succumb to others' ideas of beauty, not someone that would sell himself for money. Different.

* * *

Naruto.

* * *

Exhausted. The shirt – expensive, designer brand – is soiled. There is dirt on my back and my knees are scraped. I should have worn jeans, not shorts. They are for girls, some people say. They are the ones that fit, the ones I can wear. The kind that my customers want me to wear.

My surroundings are beautiful, but I should head to my dorm. Excited, excited. I need a shower, some eye contacts and new clothes. I need Sasuke's money. No, I need _Sasuke_. Horribly so, I feel the need to show him my change. It is a step in the right direction, and perhaps it will inspire him to stay.

Stay for a little while longer.

* * *

My hair is still damp when the door is forced open. Despite a minor heart attack I almost get upon seeing him again, I am relieved that I managed to shower and change before _anyone_ showed up. The sores on my knees sting and I feel tired. Tired, but glad to see his face again.

"Let me see."

He doesn't sound worried, he doesn't sound angry. He sounds bored, he sounds like he always does. He grabs my chin harshly, forcing our eyes to meet. I close them – don't want him to see these horrendous blues – and his breath is hot on my face. He reeks of sweat, and I wonder if he just paid the school gym a visit.

"You stupid, stupid _idiot_." He pushes me down on the bed, and I bite my lower lip with annoyance. "Do you think your beautiful now? Do you think you're _pretty_?"

"Wha– no, no, I–"

My chest contracts painfully, and I can't help the tears. Of course not, I want to say. Of course, how could I be beautiful? My eyes are blue, my clothes are cheap and I _don't know_. I don't know anything; all I know is hunger and brittle hair and dry eyes. All I know is buying cosmetics worth more than my pride, buying clothes worth more than my comfort.

"Don't you know what makes you beautiful?"

He sits down by my side on the bed, avoiding looking at me. I look away as well, unconsciously hurt by his lack of eye-contact. Am I that horrid to look at, still?

"What makes you beautiful is your smile. Your ability to make everyone around you smile. You make _me_ smile." He sounds a little put-off at the thought, but the tone is honest. Sasuke is a poor liar and, yet, I feel that this must be the biggest lie he has ever told. I know where to find beauty – I just haven't reached it yet. He continues, "I think you're beautiful."

Liar, I want to say. Liar, liar, because I'm not beautiful. I am not attractive, pretty, handsome and I'm not even worth looking at without my make-up, hair dye and designer clothes. What would I be without them? Doesn't he understand that I'm nothing without it? Does he still not understand anything, after all this time?

I look at him, unshed tears causing my cheeks to flare in embarrassment. He stares, dark eyes staring straight into mine as if he isn't disgusted. As if it doesn't matter that my eyes are watery blue, as if they shouldn't be brown.

He takes my hand in his, breaking eye-contact for a mere second, and then he smiles,

"I love you."

* * *

Sasuke.

* * *

"I met your mother."

"No."

"…yes," I insist. Perhaps it is not the best time to tell him this, but I did promise to bring her home her son as soon as I found him. Sighing, I add, "I told her."

"You did _what_? Why would you do that? Are you insane?"

"I did it because I love you. Didn't you hear? I love you."

The words are foreign, strange on my tongue. It feels so right to say them, so right to finally let him know. The world must know, everyone should know – I love him. With these words, I declare that I belong to him. That he belongs to me, that he is mine. Everything – from his bittersweet taste to his crooked smile, from his fake-blond hair to his intruding ribcage. It can't be taken away from me when I use these words.

"Don't you know what you've done? She'll take everything away from me." He looks devastated, "She'll force me back home; I can't live there anymore. They'll take you away from me."

"What?" I frown, confused by his words. My hand, once on his elbow, moves to his hand as I try to figure out what he means. What does he mean?

"My father will blame everything on you. On you, your pretty hair and your expensive clothes. He'll blame the school for letting you manipulate me. He'll think you're my–"

He stops himself, looking up, and his breathing fast. The scars on his cheeks are so faded that I can barely see them, even now, without his make-up. He must be lying. I want him – I _have_ him – no one can take him from me. Why should they, when I have saved him?

* * *

"Mmm…n-_aahh_…"

He smells delicious, sweet and sugary. He tastes differently, his caramel skin leaving a bitter tone of coconut on my tongue. My lips sting from harsh kisses, but it is a good tingle. It is a small cost to pay, seeing him gasp and flutter his eyes when my tongue reaches his ear. His lanky arms, wrapping around my neck, attempting to keep me there forever, until the pleasure fades.

His sounds arouse me to the point of insanity, my hands eagerly exploring his too slim body. The ribs I feel doesn't matter, the hip bones poking me doesn't matter and the collar bones against my lips doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, this is Naruto, and I want him. I've always wanted him, and now I have him. One would think the desire would weaken, but I was sorely mistaken.

Everything about him, bucking up and moaning in my ear when my wet fingers circle his hole. I push one in, and he whispers my name. He is so warm, so hot, and he appreciates my touch to a whole new degree. His hands holding onto my shoulders, one sneaking down my arm to make my fingers move faster.

"Sasu–ke," he whispers against my lips. His eyes are closed, trying to escape reality and succumb to pleasure. "Sasuke, ah, _God_."

I could do this forever, moving my fingers in and out of him and watch bliss roll off of him in waves until he climaxes, sucking on his lower lip and listen to his heavy breathing.

"I'm…" He pauses mid-sentence, his mouth millimetres from mine, and he gives a small whimper as he finally reaches his orgasm. His body tenses up, clenching around my fingers and causing me to groan. It would be so lovely to have my dick there, tightly buried in his wet hole. "Sasuke," he breathes out, his forehead against mine.

He stays completely still for a few seconds, just breathing, caressing with smooth hands over my arms. I move first, sitting back slightly and whipping out my erection from my underwear. I give it a few pumps, spreading pre-cum and lube from Naruto's ass onto it. It feels so good, knowing that he is watching. Blue eyes, hypnotised by my hand's movements.

He scrambles up from his sprawled-out position, standing on his knees between my spread legs. He presses his lips against mine, our tongues meeting and touching. He is the one to end it, lying down on his stomach with his nose bumping into the head of my dick. I can see the small smile before he swats away my hand, his fingers wrapping around me and guiding my cock to his mouth.

"A-aahh…" My hands are in his hands immediately, and I close my eyes. His mouth is wet and warm, his tongue playful. There are no teeth involved, and he sucks expertly, eagerly. "Yea–"

My head lolls back, and nothing matters as the man of my dreams sucks my cock. I won't let them take him away from me.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


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